"Stand there. Don't move. That's better." Von Stalhein circled around behind him. "This time you won't--"
"Get away from you so easily?" Biggles offered whimsically. "The odds are against you, you know."
"I only need to succeed once," von Stalhein retorted. "But since you make a point of it... one more step forwards, please. Now your hands, if you don't mind, Bigglesworth."
Biggles stepped forwards, facing the wall, and von Stalhein seized his wrists. He must have put the gun away to do it, but he had an iron grip on both wrists and Biggles doubted he would win in any contest of physical strength; he could hear von Stalhein's tense breathing in his ear and knew the man was braced for any kind of action. A smooth cord was wrapped around one wrist, then the other, looping around them both and effectively restraining him. Once his hands were securely fastened he felt von Stalhein's tension ease.
"You think this will tilt the odds in your favor?" Biggles asked. "Well, perhaps. In general I would be the last person to advise against riding your luck."
Von Stalhein was checking his knots, his fingers brushing against Biggles's wrists; then he took Biggles's forefinger in a light grip, pressing briefly on one fingernail. "It is not my intention to harm you. Is there any pain?"
Biggles did not think it would help his situation to lie. "It's not exactly comfortable, but I don't think it's dangerously tight." He rolled his shoulders a little, trying to get his sleeves to lie smoothly. To his surprise, von Stalhein pulled them straight, his hand brushing the fabric almost fussily. Biggles looked back over his shoulder in surprise.
"Thank you," he said. "If you don't mind, there's some hair in my eye." He'd been in the field for a long time on this mission and his hair had grown in an irritating way, he had intended to ask Algy to snip off the worst of it this morning, but events had intervened.
Von Stalhein's hand was still resting on his arm; he used it to turn Biggles to face him. "Oh yes, I see," he said in a low voice, and with one finger and a very delicate touch, he swept the offending lock away, then smoothed all Biggles's hair down and to the side. Biggles gave a wry smile.
"This would almost be friendly if I wasn't tied up," he commented.
"If you weren't tied up, it couldn't be friendly," von Stalhein said instantly. "I shall have to leave you now, I have much work to do elsewhere now." He did not leave immediately, but surveyed Biggles with a bright-eyed gaze. "Is there anything else you require before I go--a drink, perhaps?"
There was a jug of water and an earthenware mug on the table, both useless to Biggles with his hands tied. "Thank you, yes," Biggles said. His ear had picked up the faintest of sounds, the note of a distant engine. Von Stalhein would hear it soon too. But for now, von Stalhein was pouring water into the mug. He held it to Biggles's lips, resting his free hand on Biggles's shoulder. Biggles realised he was leaning a little into that touch, as if von Stalhein was a friend comforting him in this cell instead of his captor. He straightened up hastily, and a little water splashed on his face.
"Excuse me," von Stalhein said, chasing away the droplets with his finger. "Enough?"
"Thank you," Biggles said again, a little tenser himself now. The sound of the engine was growing louder, and von Stalhein glanced involuntarily towards the barred window.
"It's a long way down for a man with tied hands," he remarked lightly. "I suggest you remain here."
"I'll bear your preferences in mind," Biggles answered.
Von Stalhein's hand was still on his shoulder, a warm, almost possessive grasp. Biggles did not pull away. "Alternatively," he said, "I've told you before the air is sweeter on my side of things. We might have room for a passenger."
At that, von Stalhein released him, very abruptly. Biggles stepped back. Von Stalhein was shaking his hand out, as if the touch had scorched his skin. "I have work elsewhere," he said again, and this time he made for the door without looking back. The lock snicked behind him. Biggles stood facing the door a moment longer, then shook himself as well, and crossed to the window to look for signs of the approaching rescue.
FILL: Biggles/EvS pre-ship, slightly illicit enjoyment of physical touch
"Get away from you so easily?" Biggles offered whimsically. "The odds are against you, you know."
"I only need to succeed once," von Stalhein retorted. "But since you make a point of it... one more step forwards, please. Now your hands, if you don't mind, Bigglesworth."
Biggles stepped forwards, facing the wall, and von Stalhein seized his wrists. He must have put the gun away to do it, but he had an iron grip on both wrists and Biggles doubted he would win in any contest of physical strength; he could hear von Stalhein's tense breathing in his ear and knew the man was braced for any kind of action. A smooth cord was wrapped around one wrist, then the other, looping around them both and effectively restraining him. Once his hands were securely fastened he felt von Stalhein's tension ease.
"You think this will tilt the odds in your favor?" Biggles asked. "Well, perhaps. In general I would be the last person to advise against riding your luck."
Von Stalhein was checking his knots, his fingers brushing against Biggles's wrists; then he took Biggles's forefinger in a light grip, pressing briefly on one fingernail. "It is not my intention to harm you. Is there any pain?"
Biggles did not think it would help his situation to lie. "It's not exactly comfortable, but I don't think it's dangerously tight." He rolled his shoulders a little, trying to get his sleeves to lie smoothly. To his surprise, von Stalhein pulled them straight, his hand brushing the fabric almost fussily. Biggles looked back over his shoulder in surprise.
"Thank you," he said. "If you don't mind, there's some hair in my eye." He'd been in the field for a long time on this mission and his hair had grown in an irritating way, he had intended to ask Algy to snip off the worst of it this morning, but events had intervened.
Von Stalhein's hand was still resting on his arm; he used it to turn Biggles to face him. "Oh yes, I see," he said in a low voice, and with one finger and a very delicate touch, he swept the offending lock away, then smoothed all Biggles's hair down and to the side. Biggles gave a wry smile.
"This would almost be friendly if I wasn't tied up," he commented.
"If you weren't tied up, it couldn't be friendly," von Stalhein said instantly. "I shall have to leave you now, I have much work to do elsewhere now." He did not leave immediately, but surveyed Biggles with a bright-eyed gaze. "Is there anything else you require before I go--a drink, perhaps?"
There was a jug of water and an earthenware mug on the table, both useless to Biggles with his hands tied. "Thank you, yes," Biggles said. His ear had picked up the faintest of sounds, the note of a distant engine. Von Stalhein would hear it soon too. But for now, von Stalhein was pouring water into the mug. He held it to Biggles's lips, resting his free hand on Biggles's shoulder. Biggles realised he was leaning a little into that touch, as if von Stalhein was a friend comforting him in this cell instead of his captor. He straightened up hastily, and a little water splashed on his face.
"Excuse me," von Stalhein said, chasing away the droplets with his finger. "Enough?"
"Thank you," Biggles said again, a little tenser himself now. The sound of the engine was growing louder, and von Stalhein glanced involuntarily towards the barred window.
"It's a long way down for a man with tied hands," he remarked lightly. "I suggest you remain here."
"I'll bear your preferences in mind," Biggles answered.
Von Stalhein's hand was still on his shoulder, a warm, almost possessive grasp. Biggles did not pull away. "Alternatively," he said, "I've told you before the air is sweeter on my side of things. We might have room for a passenger."
At that, von Stalhein released him, very abruptly. Biggles stepped back. Von Stalhein was shaking his hand out, as if the touch had scorched his skin. "I have work elsewhere," he said again, and this time he made for the door without looking back. The lock snicked behind him. Biggles stood facing the door a moment longer, then shook himself as well, and crossed to the window to look for signs of the approaching rescue.